


Lowercase

by pitypartyof1



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M, Stress, eh i don't feel like doing more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitypartyof1/pseuds/pitypartyof1
Summary: Calum hums thoughtfully. Gentle fingers probe at sore muscles, pressing into his neck and shoulders and Ashton whines softly. “You’re too capitalized these days, you know that?”AKA: A short little piece based on an idea that wouldn't leave my mind.





	Lowercase

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

Ashton’s shoulders are tense. The stress had started as a niggle in the back of his mind. It didn’t stay that way for long. Its poisonous tendrils snaked down his neck, branching into his shoulders and continuing down his spine, reaching around to tie his stomach in notes. Everything hurts, he feels like he might puke if he concentrates on it too hard. The worst part is that he’s not even sure where the stress is coming from, and that just causes a flare in his anxiety. He’s too fatigued to do anything about it, and too uneasy to even attempt sleep.

Instead, he finds himself sat on the floor of the den. An abandoned guitar rests on the sofa cushions behind him, an empty notebook in front, pen recklessly discarded to the side. Sighing, he digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, rubbing furiously. Even this, this one thing that had always allowed him catharsis in the past seemed to be working against him. Frustrating didn’t do the situation justice. Even worse, it made the free-floating anxiety latch further into his brain. Unable to write? What does that mean? He’d always been able to write something before, even if it was complete shit thrown into the trash at the end of the night.

The slight scuffing of a sock against the wood floor close by startles him. Stuck in his own head, he didn’t realize Calum had entered the room. A soft twang rings through the space as he slides the guitar further along the couch and settles himself behind Ashton’s tense shoulders.

“I woke up alone,” he murmurs softly.

Ashton hums listlessly in acknowledgement.

“Care to talk about it?”

A knot tightens in Ashton’s gut. More anxiety. How can he explain? He doesn’t know what’s happening, he just knows he feels like he’s losing himself. “I don’t know how,” he admits hoarsely.

Calum hums thoughtfully. Gentle fingers probe at sore muscles, pressing into his neck and shoulders and Ashton whines softly. “You’re too capitalized these days, you know that?”

It catches the older boy by surprise and he huffs. Calum can be so cryptic sometimes. Ashton says it’s because he’s an Aquarius, Calum says he’s just smarter than his boyfriend. Making to turn and face the bassist, Ashton whimpers again as Calum flicks his ear.

“Stay facing forward. I’m giving you a massage.”

Ashton frowns. “What does that even mean,” he demands grumpily, now glaring straight ahead.

“What,” Calum starts, “a massage? It’s when I rub at your muscles and try to get them to relax. I know I don’t do it often, but surely –”

“Not the massage, the capitalized thing,” Ashton interrupts. He’s not really in the mood for Calum’s teasing wit at the moment. It drives him mad when Calum says things like that and doesn’t explain them. There’s absolutely no way he can honestly believe Ashton’s going to know what it means. It’s aggravating.

The fingers on his shoulders pause. “Just – grab your notebook and write your name for me. I promise it’ll make sense,” he hurries out, correctly interpreting Ashton’s silence. “You need to actually write it out, don’t just sign it.”

With a tired sigh, the drummer leans to the side, reaching for the long-discarded notebook and pen. Calum’s hands slip from his shoulders and he finds he misses the warmth and comfort dearly. Meticulously, he spells out his name, neat letters marching across the page. Finished, he tilts his head back, gazing up at Calum with a question in his eyes.

Nodding back at the page, Calum gives a small smile. “Look at all the capital letters. The capitals are what make it proper and important, what tells us that there are certain expectations for that noun. You see what I mean? You’re forcing yourself to be too much like a capital. You need to be lowercase for a while.”

“What do you mean I’m forcing myself to be too capital?”

Calum’s breath ruffles the fine hairs at the back of Ashton’s neck as he releases a deep breath. “You’ve been trying to so hard to do so many things because you feel like you have to, because of who you are. You won’t say no when people keep piling things on you because it’s what’s expected.”

Little by little it makes more sense. Though he’s not sure why his boyfriend couldn’t just come out and say it plainly like that in the first place. Reaching back, he takes Calum’s hand, fingers tangling together as he rests them on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to be lowercase,” he whispers longingly.

Calum’s grip tightens over his hand where they’re joined, and he presses a soft kiss to the crown of Ashton’s head. “I’ll help you, Ash. First, we’re going to go back to bed where you’re going to fuck me nice and slow. Tomorrow, we’re going to shut our phones off for the whole day. We’re going to prune the lemon tree and make some lemonade. We’ll go from there.”

Nodding, an edge of shyness in his eyes, Ashton allows Calum to pull him up and lead him to the bedroom. His shoulders slide down an inch and he already feels more himself, less alone. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ashy,” Calum murmurs back. He seals it with a kiss.


End file.
